Chapter 3 - The Counter-Strike
At seven in the morning, Ethan and Chloe left the house together in his Mercedes sports coupe to have brunch at an exclusive country club where Ethan had recently applied for membership.
The moment the security gates closed behind their car, I threw off the housekeeper’s uniform, took a scalding hot shower to wash off the scent of their deceit, and called Marcus Sterling.
Marcus was my father’s oldest friend, the founding partner of Sterling & Cole LLP, and one of the most ruthless forensic attorneys on the Eastern Seaboard. Twenty minutes later, Marcus arrived at my house in a town car, accompanied by his senior investigator, a former federal agent named Richard.
"Tell me everything, Laura," Marcus said, sitting at my kitchen island with a cup of black coffee while Richard set up a portable document scanner.
I laid out the photocopies Grace and I had taken of the papers in Ethan's safe, along with the half-empty bottle of vitamin capsules I had fished from my master bathroom medicine cabinet.
Marcus adjusted his glasses, his expression darkening into a ferocious scowl as he read through the clauses of the Delaware LLC deed and the offshore insurance policy. "This is criminal fraud, grand larceny, and attempted premeditated murder. The man has spent the last year meticulously setting you up for complete destruction."
Richard opened a chemical testing kit and scraped powder from one of the white capsules Ethan had given me. Within ninety seconds, the test strip turned a vibrant, toxic violet.
"Digitalis compound mixed with concentrated potassium," Richard announced grimly, looking up at us. "Taken in small daily doses over time, it mimics coronary artery spasms. To an ordinary medical examiner performing a standard post-mortem, it looks like sudden cardiac arrest caused by stress."
Hearing the clinical confirmation of Ethan’s plot felt like a bucket of ice water poured down my spine. The man who held my hand at dinner, who rubbed my back when I had migraines, had been feeding me poison one capsule at a time.
"Do we call the police right now?" Grace asked, trembling with anger as she set down a platter of sandwiches. "We have the evidence!"
"If we call the local police today, his defense attorney will claim the pills were misplaced or self-administered," Marcus countered smoothly, leaning forward with steel in his eyes. "And Ethan will hide the offshore accounts before we can freeze the assets. No, Laura. We do not strike like an amateur."
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"What do we do?" I asked, feeling an iron spine of resolve replace the grief that had weighed on me.
"We let him believe his plan is working perfectly," Marcus said with a cold, predatory grin. "We replace the poison capsules with harmless powdered sugar. We draft an identical set of documents with tiny, microscopic alterations in the legal annexes. And on Sunday, when you 'return' from your trip, you give him the performance of your life."
